If only a time machine were available to whisk me away to 1940: I would take along a copy of Nate Eppler’s script for Modern Love and convince some Hollywood film studio to do a silver screen version of it—if only they’d let me do the casting.
In the role of Simon Clay (played at Chaffin’s Barn Dinner Theatre by Corey Caldwell), my first inclination would be to give the role to Cary Grant, but Errol Flynn might be a better choice to play the rakish fellow who pretends to be a woman named Rose Lavender to write the best-selling book that gives the play its title. The role of Alice Worthington could go to any number of fine actresses (Katharine Hepburn, Rosalind Russell, Barbara Stanwyck, even Olivia deHavilland, all come to mind), but it would be Ginger Rogers’ part for me; she had the same “genuine” feel that Nashville’s own Jennifer Richmond has.
The supporting roles would be harder to cast: Amanda Card-McCoy’s performance of Laurie Clay is so on-point that I’d try to wrestle her upon the time machine to take her there, but since she’d most likely be in rehearsal for another show when I chose to take my journey, I’d probably pick some up-and-coming starlet. Or I’d be inspired to be rather formulaic and offer the role to Judy Garland—to play opposite Mickey Rooney’s Norbert Worthington (the role brought so winningly to life by Zack McCann). We could also give them a wonderful Rodgers and Hart song to sing in a new nightclub scene we’d insert in the film to feature the Benny Goodman Orchestra, allowing us to show off Ginger’s gorgeous gams and her expressively iconic dancing.
With Harry Morgan (substituting for the original Warren Gore) as The Chameleon—that’s how the title card would read, save for the mention of Warren Gore (sorry, Warren, we’re going for box office draw here).
Such are the flights of fancy my mind takes after a delicious dinner and deliciously entertaining new play at Chaffin’s Barn Dinner Theatre, the Nashville institution that is embarking upon its 45th year, kicking off the birthday celebration in grand style with the premiere of the latest stage comedy from the fertile imagination of Nate Eppler. Clearly the finest playwright to be found toiling on local stages (and the number grows daily, it seems, indicating that there might be some additive to our water here that inspires creativity), Eppler proves his mettle once again with this charming tribute to light-hearted romantic comedy.
Eppler’s obvious affection for the genre is apparent from the play’s very first moments—Caldwell gives a high-spirited reading of his role, delivering Eppler’s tongue-twisting dialogue with high caliber self-assurance, while Gore makes the first of his hilarious appearances in the play—and he once again displays his deft hand at creating believable dialogue that’s sharply witty and wondrously clever. The ease with which his characters rattle off the repartee he has written is largely because of his gift of gab, but it also points to the sure-handed direction of the piece by Martha Wilkinson (no stranger herself to the wonderful words cobbled together by Eppler), and the performances of the five-member cast who give life to the scriptbound characters.
Much like the cinematic tribute experienced by audiences in the First Night award-winning Rear Widow (written with Dietz Osborne), which owed much of its charm to film noir, Modern Love benefits from Eppler’s encyclopedic knowledge of vintage romantic comedies and his infallible ear for creating dialogue that fairly snaps and crackles with a delightful period flavor that is anything but dated, with only scant anachronisms. Admittedly, a reference to “women’s liberation” sent me researching my heart out: from what I can determine the better phrase to be used would be “second wave feminism,” since “women’s liberation” didn’t come into general usage until the 1960s—so far as I can tell—but Laurie’s use of the word “feminism” is accurate and timely, and even the use of facial tissues is true to the time period (they were first introduced in 1924, at first to be used in the removal of cold cream, and two years later were being used as substitutes for handkerchiefs).
It’s his attention to detail that makes Eppler’s works so accessible and satisfying—well, that plus the fact that he is such a good writer. What he’s still doing in Nashville is beyond my comprehension although my fellow critics and I hope to keep him here for as long as humanly possible before we lose him to the whole big world outside the confines of Nashville theater. But, mark my words: Nate Eppler is going places.
